Butch and Sundance vs the Vampire
by WildHorseFantasy
Summary: An undercover operation at a Halloween costume party lands Neal and Peter far from help and outnumbered by bad guys Can they hold on until help arrives? Rated T for some violence, mostly 'off screen'
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own White Collar. No profit here, I'm just playing in their world to fight off the withdrawal during hiatus. Thanks to those who create the real White Collar TV show.**

**Welcome to a Halloween inspired story - with our imperfect heroes getting into trouble as usual. I did a bit of research on the crimes/issues involved, but no guarantees on accuracy. Any resemblance to actual events or crimes is purely coincidental.  
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Neal clenched and unclenched his fist, considering the risks. The straightforward art forgery ring had gotten more complicated when he'd realized how the art was forged.

"It's just so wrong!" He complained fiercely.

Peter noted his indignation. "Paint by number forgeries? In this day and age, I'm not surprised."

"No skill required." Neal was taking it as a personal insult to real art forgers and artists.

"What you should be worried about is who is doing it. They may not like doing it either."

"What do you mean?" Neal's eyes narrowed. He took the file Peter handed him and shock hit his face.

"Do you mean...it's an art forgery sweatshop?"

"We think so. That information was uncovered by an NYPD vice unit. They hit the place trying to uncover a prostitution ring. They found not only the ring, but the sweatshop attached."

"So most of the girls are forced into prostitution, but the older ones..."

"They are forced into the forgery. Men too. It looks like they've tricked illegal aliens in, offering even husband and wife or brother a sister a job and help getting into the country. Then they get here and are separated..."

Anger flashed on the younger man's features. "And this guy, this Rinzon is the top guy."

"Or at least pretty high up the food chain in the US."

Neal breathed deeply. "How do we prove it?" He winced and sucked in a breath as horrific photos leaped out at him. A terrified young asian girl covered in bruises. An older man, skin and bones with bruises and paint splotches on his hands.

Peter looked uncomfortable. "You're already in as a fine art consultant. And Rinzon invited you to the costume party at his place on Halloween. I'm going in with you as your main client."

Neal glanced up. "Why are you coming in? And what are the costumes?"

"Costumes we haven't decided on yet. But we'll think of something. Maybe you could go in stripes with a ball and chain."

"Very funny." Neal scowled. But I notice you're avoiding the why."

Peter shifted uneasily and Neal realized he was not happy with the assignment. "I'd rather you weren't in there alone."

Neal frowned. "Don't you trust me?" His tone was light but he was confused. They had plenty of trust issues but this seemed different.

"I don't trust them. Neal..." Peter let out a slow breath. "This seems to work both ways. There is some evidence..." He hesitated again. "Well, the NYPD had sent someone in before and they disappeared. Not killed mind you, but vanished. The last evidence they had was that their undercover operative was taken out of the country."

His brown eyes peered at Caffrey with concern. "If they think someone is...well, the right type...they'll kidnap them and sell them overseas. Or use them in one of the operations over there at least."

Neal just kept blinking at Peter, absorbing this unwelcome news.

"We didn't know this when we first sent you undercover. But if they think they can get a good price, they'll look for another art dealer..."

"Um." Neal swallowed. He'd faced plenty of dangerous situations. But Peter's unease was a warning in itself. He felt this was too dangerous, that something could go wrong. Neal didn't always take Peter's advice, admittedly, he often ignored it. But he didn't ignore the danger. If Peter's instincts were warning him, he'd be a fool to discount it. He felt cold in the pit of his stomach.

"If you want out...we'll try and find an alternative." Peter said suddenly.

Neal glanced up. Peter wanted out, he could see that. But all those people forced to work against their will, plus the insulting nature of the art forgeries made him angry. "I'd love to back out. But this is our best shot isn't it? And..." his lips tightened. "If ever there was a group I'd love to see go down, this is it. You've got my back right?"

"Always. As long as your working with me not against me."

* * *

><p>The party was at a mansion with an amazing amount of ground, considering this was New York. Backup was in the van but it was pretty far from the main house.<p>

Elizabeth's idea that he and Peter go in as Butch and Sundance was pretty clever, Neal had to admit. Peter would even have an excuse to carry a pair of guns although Neal's would be fake. Neal had suggested a few modifications to the costumes for emergencies and they were good to go.

"How come you get the real six shooters and I get fakes?" the younger man grumbled.

"Because you hate guns and you are a felon. Remember?" Peter observed, smiling innocently as he and Neal proceeded into the party. "Why want one now?"

"I've had a creepy feeling ever since you gave me more details. Just because I hate them doesn't mean I won't defend myself."

"That's what I'm here for. Although I do wish I had my regular weapon."

"Better use your best shooting if you've only got twelve shots, Butch." Neal's eyes roved the crowd of party goers as they entered. "We might be outnumbered."


	2. Chapter 2

The man in charge of it all, Rinzon, was part asian and part french. He wore a vampire costume, of the classic dracula variety. His dark eyes narrowed at Peter. And he turned to Neal casually. "I see you brought company Mr. Devore. Normally the plus one is female, but..." he shrugged. "We don't judge. You just surprise me."

"My female friend came down sick at the last minute." Neal said mildly. "This is Peter Barris, my primary buyer."

"I like parties." Peter said, "especially when I might get a deal out of them".

Rinzon bowed his head politely, "Please, enjoy yourselves. We'll talk more later."

They glanced at each other and proceeded to mingle. One of Rinzon's server's came up and offered them wine. They each took a glass, knowing Rinzon was watching.

"Neal..." Peter eyed the glass warily. Ever since his poisoning, drinking in these situations had him extra cautious.

"Mm." Neal looked at the wine sadly, casually moving among the crowd, he lightly switched it with another drink on a server's tray, when the server wasn't looking.

Peter glanced around and when no-one was looking emptied his into a potted fern covered with fake cobwebs.

"He can't be poisoning all his guests, Peter." Neal observed sipping lightly.

"Why chance it?" Peter glanced at the younger man, who somehow looked like a born aristocrat even in the cowboy outfit. Darn it, he noted, he even pulled that off, looking like a classic cowboy with his brown pants, leather boots, vest, and light shirt and hat. The only thing off was the belt with it's fake gun in the holster and bullets. And that's just because he knew Neal didn't like guns.

"We'd look suspicious." The young man fired back. Studying the snacks.

Peter looked at them and flinched. He wasn't sure whether they were specially decorated for Halloween or if this was really exotic food, but no way was he inclined to touch it. Food shaped like eyeballs and insects was not his preference. He'd stick with your standard sugar cookies with a glittery pumpkin painted on, thank you.

"It's a Halloween costume party. Everyone looks suspicious." Peter counted a pirate, a vicious looking old style mob guy with heavy scarring and a cadaverous character he couldn't identify. The lights in through room were multi colored but left the room overall feeling dim and moody. He'd spotted several cameras hidden between the lights. Woman appeared, dancing on tables, as spooky music played. They too, had that vampire look. Peter wasn't convinced their odd dance was all acting, nor the eyes just made up. They almost looked drugged. Some of the party girls now moved amid the crowd smiling at men and making more than one female guest frown. But then a few handsome young male vampires joined the crowd and these seemed to be targeting the woman.

One of the girls smiled and said something to Neal and he smiled back smartly, adjusting his old western hat. Peter frowned. Rinzon appeared then and motioned the girl to move off. "Please, we must talk. This way."

Neal moved into step with Peter and murmured. "Something was off about her. I think she was drugged."

Peter nodded, uneasily wishing this party were on more accessible grounds. The van and backup were over five minutes away.

The whole house appeared to have been done up for this party. Even the hallway bore signs of the creepy season. Dark shadows, fake trees and corpses with phony blood mingled in the hall so that instead of a normal hallway, it was a total cramped maze in itself. Peter was feeling claustrophobic. The music faded behind them. He twitched as a fake spider lowered onto his arm and picked up his pace. He retrieved his cowboy hat as a low hanging false branch knocked it off. He could hear Neal's steps just ahead as the younger man stepped between the fake trees. There was a soft click. He froze as he stepped between the same trees. He could see a little way ahead. No sign of Neal. His stomach tightened. "N..George?" He called softly, remembering the alias at the last second. He hurried forward, reached the end and found an empty room, also decorated. But no Neal. How could he have vanished so fast? "Not good. I've lost him." He said for the benefit of the listeners in the van.

Neal had stepped through the trees following Rinzon. He'd heard a soft click behind and glanced back and noticed the darkness. . But he didn't see the man behind who'd shut a disguised door. He kept after Rinzon. It took him a few more steps before he realized Peter wasn't behind him. Alarmed, he glanced back. He took his hat off on impulse, his hand lightly dropping it into the nearby shadow as he turned further and stepped aside. "Peter?" He called softly.

Rinzon stopped and turned. He was looking up and down at him appraisingly His fangs were showing. In the darkness, with moody colored red lights, Neal had a sudden sense of dread. He felt his skin crawl. He forced his best fake poker face on and said, "I think I lost Peter back there. Guess I better go retrieve him."

"I think not."

"He's..." Cold metal touched his neck and a sudden heat, followed by a sharp blast of electricity silenced him. He crashed to the floor, unconscious. Rinzon motioned to two people who came forward and picked the young man up.

Peter had hurried back to where he'd lost track of Neal. He was certain that the young man hadn't vanished that fast unless there was another exit he'd missed. Searching the disguised hallway he found a latch under a giant spider. Wincing, he pushed, pulled and the door opened. He stepped in cautiously.

Eyes wide he sought shadows and costumed dummies for real threats. He stepped deep in the shadows hoping to avoid notice. Voices ahead, but he didn't call out now. Something soft was underfoot and he bent down. His lips tightened and he avoided swearing as he found Neal's hat. One hand dipped to the pistol on his belt and he crept forward.

He followed the voices and eventually spotted them carrying the young man down a hall to a garage. He hurried after.

"Quickly. His friend will notice his absence." Rinzon ordered.

The Halloween decor was both blessing and curse, slowing the agent but giving him cover. "I see him. Neal must be unconscious. Rinzon's loaded Neal into a black truck. He's got a whole fleet down here." He whispered.

The rear door wasn't shut and Peter darted forward, careful to avoid the rear view mirror and the men opening a garage door. He dove for the truck, climbed in and stumbled as he found himself walking on bodies. He gasped softly and flopped down in the back as someone came around to shut the door. As it rumbled shut and cast the truck into shadow, he found the one he was looking for. "Neal!"

Neal didn't stir, but probing under his friend's cowboy handkerchief, Peter confirmed his vital signs were good. Feeling around Peter found the surrounding people in the same straights. Alive but out cold. At least four others were there, two men and women besides Neal. He lurched as the van started to move. He hoped the team was right behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

Getting out was worse than he'd feared. He had to wait until Rinzon's henchman carried out the unconscious people and hide behind a few boxes in the back. Fortunately they didn't move the boxes. Unfortunately, they did move Neal. Then he'd had to wait until no-one was in sight. When he did, Peter found the situation was critical. They were at a private airport and three cargo planes were being loaded. He saw them carry one of their victims into the plane, but he was already too late to tell where Neal was. And the blades were already on, the planes ready to taxi as soon as loaded.

"Where are you?" He murmured, both to the team he desperately hoped was listening and to Neal, who he knew couldn't hear him.

He darted to one plane, keeping out of sight as much as possible. He climbed in, looked around and found several unconscious people. One moaned softly. But no Neal. He barely got out as it was moving and ran to the next. Still no Neal. The door shut as he was in and he whirled in alarm as it began to taxi. He swore silently. They were taking off. He could only hope whatever plane Neal was on was going to the same place. He hunkered down as far out of sight as he could get.

It was a long flight. A very, very long flight for an unprepared Fed. They landed to refuel at a private airstrip. To Peter's dismay the other planes were not on the ground. One had already taken off and listening into the cockpit communications revealed that the other wouldn't land until his plane had taken off. He was forced to get clear for a time as one of the men checked the unconscious victims. Some were stirring, making noises and groaning. The man was injecting them with something. He managed to get in without being noticed again, thankful he only had two of Rinzon's people to dodge. He settled in to wait again. He checked his costume pocket watch and frowned. His legs were cramped and he hadn't eaten in hours. Where could they be going that it would take this long to get there?

When they finally landed it took some careful dodging yet again to avoid getting out without being seen. There were definitely more people here and the air smelled different, heavy with vegetation and salty. His legs were screaming and his neck and back were cramped. His empty stomach was adding to the litany of complaints. He breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted the other planes landing.

He glanced around and spotted the buildings the people were being carried to. Peter's gaze landed on a large selection of crates backed up to the woods. He made it into the shadows, found a spot between them. Trees came right up to the edge. His eyes fell on the trees and his muscles tightened, complaining at adding extra tension after long hours in such close quarters. He was no tree expert, but he knew you didn't find trees like that in the North East United States.

It wasn't until dark fell completely that he came out of hiding. The place was not well lit and there were only a few night guards. Peter suspected this was because they had no fear of being found. This was not a good sign for the good guys. The first building he checked was a hanger. It was fortunately empty of people other than the single man with a rifle patrolling around it. He found a map and swore. He was on a private island. Definitely not in the United States. No place close to getting help by boat or air. He was way out of his jurisdiction.

But jurisdiction aside, Neal was here somewhere and he would find him.

Aside from raiding an empty private lounge and grabbing the first food and drink that came to hand, he didn't linger. Next he started on the warehouses. He found one, with the lights on and carefully peered in the window. Through dust and smears he saw the art forgery operations in progress. People were painting quickly with a couple of armed guards around the edges. They apparently worked in shifts all night and then another shift came on in the day.

The next building was a barracks. Some lights were on, some off. The building was not soundproof. Snores emanated from within as well as cries and whimpers. He heard a thump, a curse and a shriek, a woman begging. Peter paused, fighting nausea and grinding his teeth. His fingers tightened again on the pistol. He wanted to leap to the girl's rescue. The heartbreaking realization of what being out of his jurisdiction meant sank in. He had no legal authority here. For all he knew these guys were the law. It was an appalling thought.

The last building was also full of storage units. He snuck in, gun out and glancing around at the closed doors. The lights were dim. Groans and whimpers came from the closed doors. He passed an open one and looking in, spotted chains on the wall. This was surreal. Here he was, dressed in a cowboy outfit, the outlaw Butch Cassidy no less, creeping through the hall in a foreign country in a building with medieval chains on the walls. Surely it was a nightmare.

But he kept going. His churning stomach wasn't a dream, nor the cold damp of the air hitting the sweat on his forehead. He stopped cold listening. Was that a familiar voice?

* * *

><p>Neal had woken up in chains, with a raging headache and so thirsty his tongue felt like fuzz. Feeling around he'd confirmed the tools were still in the seams of the shirt and vest. All he needed was to get them to poke out and he'd have an instant lock pick. This, however, he wasn't given time for. The villains that strode into the room might've seemed cliché, all dressed in black, but their weapons were definitely not costume accessories.<p>

"You're a pretty one. Surely someone decided to have fun with you in prison? You are used to chains aren't you?" One was leering at him, he had muscles like a wrestler and one harsh scar on his face.

"I don't know what your talking about." Neal replied coolly. "All I know is your boss seems to be the double crossing kind. I'm a go between for art sales. So what's the idea, kidnapping me?"

A second man spoke. "Neal Caffrey. Did you think an alias would prevent you being recognized? I suggest you do what the boss wants. Give him some nice forgeries, better than that mass sweatshop stuff, for our more discerning clients." This one was more cultured. Tall but strong and with eyes like flint.

"Or what?" Neal fired back.

"Or..." the second voice purred. "my boys find...other ways...to use you for entertainment."

Some ways down the hall, Peter's eyes widened and he picked up his pace trying to figure out where the voice emanated from. There were echoes that threw off his direction.

"I think you need a lesson." The man continued.

In the room, the scar man kneeled, leaned forward and ripped Neal's light button down shirt open, slamming a fist into his stomach causing the younger man to gasp.

"Get off me!" Neal snarled, his professional control slipping.

The bully knocked him flat for a moment, leaning heavily on him as Caffrey struggled. "See? What are you going to do? Make me?" Scar man demanded. He hit him again then yanked him up and pulled out a real whip. Neal's eyes widened. "Maybe we could negotiate," he gasped.

"Lessons first, negotiate later." The second man intoned.

* * *

><p>Voices approached, not the ones Peter was looking for. Scowling, Peter dove into an untended room. He glanced behind him and cringed. The door had been unlocked, but he could smell blood and death. He shivered, waiting impatiently for the people to move on. How could one human treat another this way?<p>

Screams rang out. More than one person, more than one direction. Peter froze in horror. One was Neal. Which way was he? He forced himself to remember he was carrying a pair of six guns, not his regular service revolver. His left hand dipped touching the leather holster of the second gun.

Finally the people in the hall moved on. He paused, which way was Neal? How long since he'd heard him? He drew in a worried breath as he looked at his watch. Too long. He hurried now, unable to stop himself, hoping the clicking of cowboy boots on concrete wouldn't give him away. Finally he was forced to stop. "Neal?" he called softly. Gun cocked, he waited.

"Mmm." He cautiously opened the door to a room with no windows. It was larger than the others. He rolled in, guns drawn and looking for enemies. But the room was empty except...

...someone was on the floor.


	4. Chapter 4

Peter crouched by the young man. "Hey Sundance? You call for backup?"

Neal rolled his eyes up. "Yeah, Butch. What kept you?" He croaked in a cotton mouthed voice.

Peter fumbled at the manacles only to find Neal had already uncuffed them. He hadn't gotten to the leg chains yet.

Neal mumbled "Good thing they didn't find my special costume modifications." He was holding a lock pick. Peter helped him with the leg irons.

"What did they...I heard them..." Peter started, hand on Caffrey's shoulder. He studied the rips and stains in the costume. His vest - part of the costume, had been ripped off. His shirt front had been torn open, leaving buttons hanging.

Neal rolled onto hands and knees to get up and Peter gasped. There were cuts on his back right through the shirt. He caught his shoulder and helped him up. Glancing down he could see bruises on his ribs.

"Neal..."

"They just kicked me around a little. And played lion tamer."

"They actually whipped you?" Peter was distressed. "It sounded like...they planned to get personal..."

Neal was silent for a moment. "They promised they would do worse, if I didn't cooperate." He swallowed. "These guys have seen way too many movies..."

"...And gotten all sorts of ideas how to hurt people from them." Peter finished. "Let's get out of here."

Peter helped him until Neal proved he could walk by himself. They slowly headed down the hallway. "Oh, my head." Neal grumbled. "And my stomach. I'm starved and parched. Where is here anyway?"

"We're on a private island."

Neal's eyes widened and he turned to face him. "How? Last thing I remember was getting tasered."

Peter's mouth tightened and he shook his head. "Drugged you. Flew you out. I was close enough to jump in the van and then on the plane but backup didn't show."

"Oh." Neal considered. "How are we going to get out of here?"

"I'm open to ideas."

Neal winced. "Hijack a pilot?"

"Risky. Anyway, I don't think I could recognize the pilots. I didn't get a good look."

For the first time, Neal seemed to register the other doors. He was definitely off his game. "What else do I need to know?"

"There is an art forgery sweatshop next door to a hanger, plus a barracks."

"What about in here?"

Peter was silent.

Neal turned again, studied the grim visage beside him. Peter looked every bit the gunslinger. Never mind an outlaw, he looked like the cop who wants to clean up the wild west town. His hands rested on his holstered gun handles.

"Peter?"

He sighed. "You weren't the only one taken. There were a bunch of other people loaded into trucks and drugged and brought here. Some may have been drugged for awhile, not all of them were in costumes. So I assume they weren't all from the party."

Neal stared. "We have to help them."

"Yes but how? The other guys have guns. Some of these people are hurt. I doubt they can all fight. And there is nowhere to run or hide."

"Can we call for help? Private island or no, these are US citizens aren't they?"

"Yeah, but it's not always that simple. It should be but it isn't."

"I say we hit the hanger and call for help. Diana has family in the state department right?"

"Yes."

They got lucky in the hanger and found a satellite phone.

"Are you two alright?" Diana sounded nearly frantic, not a normal state for her. "We ran the gates when we got your SOS but it was too late. When we realized they were flying you out...well the flight plans had different destinations for each plane, and none were real."

"We are for now." Peter glanced at Neal, who was digging through the food supply. "But we need a rescue. We're on a private island and as far as I can see the only way off is a very long boat trip or a plane." Peter was studying the map as he spoke.

"That's going to take some doing. Especially if it's unofficial. Presumably whoever owns the island is in on this. It's going to be at least a day." Diana did not sound happy. "Even if we avoid tripping over red tape."

"Too bad Mozzie isn't here. He can fly." Neal muttered.

Peter winced considering what Mozzie might use such a skill for. Then he dismissed the thought. "Hughes can help. Try that guy from the state department whose son we got out of Burma too. And tell Jones to check out private air strips between here and New York. We landed to refuel somewhere pretty deserted. Remind them we aren't the only US citizens here in need of rescue."

It was with great reluctance on both ends that they disconnected. Neal was munching on snack chips and downing a soda. He looked a little better but the way he glared at the map showed he was concerned. "Peter..."

"Yes?"

"It's too small. There really isn't anywhere to hide for that long, even for just the two of us."

Peter hadn't wanted to admit it out loud. We'll just have to manage somehow. He wracked his brains but nothing was coming up.

"The only real way is to hide in plain site. I have to go back Peter."

"Go back to being in chains so they can beat you up and who knows what else? Bad idea Neal."

"Yes, it is. But it's the only idea. All I have to do is say I'll do the forgery for him. It'll buy time. They don't know you're here and won't be looking."

"Some of those guys wanted you for entertainment not forgery and I don't want to know what kind!"

"That's why you and your six guns will be close, Butch." Neal flashed him a not entirely convincing grin.

Peter absolutely hated it. But he didn't have any better ideas, and he couldn't help Neal if they were killed. "I'll be close. Real close. If you need me. ." Peter's throat tightened.

"You'll know. Believe me."

Peter wished he were that sure.


	5. Chapter 5

"Before we do this, there is a kitchen somewhere right? This stuff is stale." Neal complained, sloshing the soda and waving the empty chip bag.

"I'm amazed you even ate it."

"Apparently it's been way too long since I ate. And I do want fuel if I end up running for my life."

"Agreed. There must be a kitchen, hopefully at night it's unguarded. Their security isn't the best." Peter noted.

Cautious exploring revealed the kitchen on the far side of the barracks. They took turns grabbing quick sandwiches that were hardly up to the Caffrey standard, but satisfied their screaming need for energy.

"I should have had them put bigger pockets in this costume." Peter grumbled, stuffing some granola and candy bars in the pockets. He grabbed a couple of water bottles to go. "There's no telling how long before we get rescued."

"Okay. I better go back." Neal looked gloomy. Caffrey gave himself a quick brush off, making sure no evidence of his wandering and snacking were in sight. They paused at every corner, looking around and timing their movements to avoid the few guards. They encountered no-one inside as they strolled reluctantly back to Neal's prison. He reluctantly sat back down on the concrete and pulled the cuffs back on. He made sure the picks were still available and Peter studied him with worry written all over his face.

"I really don't want to leave you."

"I really don't want you to." Neal admitted trying to get comfortable on the concrete floor. "Just get help here."

Peter nodded and went off to find a place to hide. He kept the satellite phone with him. He didn't care what form the help came in. Navy, Coast Guard, DEA, or even Mozzie and unknown outlaw contacts. He'd take anything.

The day seemed interminable. He tried to stay near the building Neal was in, but he had to stay out by the crates near the woods. Since Neal was prisoner in an interior room there was a limit on what Peter could see. He kept fretting and once in awhile forced himself to sip some water and nibble snacks. He was acutely aware that Neal probably wasn't being fed at all.

He did witness a transfer of materials from the forgery sweatshop to this building. Paint, canvas, that was a good sign, he realized. Neal had agreed to do the forgeries. Hopefully that would prevent him from getting hurt.

As evening came on again he tried contacting Diana again. "We're working on the help boss. Keep laying low. Better not talk long though. My contacts say these guys monitor the airwaves."

"Thanks."

Lucky, he thought, that they'd not been caught calling out yet. It was only finding the satellite phone that saved them he suspected. A radio would've been a give away for sure. They'd have had to experiment with frequencies and probably hit one the Rinzon's men monitored.

He crept back into the building as the sky darkened, hoping Neal was alone. The traffic of prisoners and guards had slowed to a stop. He heard voices as he paused outside the door.

Inside, Neal was painting and trying to ignore the large scarred guard. He'd heard him called Mackson. He was standing way too close and looking at him in a way that chilled him. He'd seen it before, in prison. It was a look that always had him staying near the guards he trusted and in view of security cams. The strategy had saved him serious harm more than once. Now the man came up behind so close Neal could smell him. He was big, muscled like a wrestler. He could feel his breath on his neck. Neal swallowed and tried to look and act natural.

"You're in my light." He said, pretending to study the canvas and his progress. He took a step back for a better view and had to flinch as he bumped into the man.

"Too bad." That breath. Too close.

"You really want to mess this up for the boss? I think he'd be mad."

"At you, not me. He won't take any excuses. Light or no."

Neal wracked his brains and wondered if Peter was close.

The man behind him spoke suddenly "I knew a lot of guys like you in prison."

"Oh?" Neal stayed casual and hoped this wasn't leading anywhere.

"Yeah." Their was an evil smile on the man, he could hear it. He didn't even need to look. "They could be a lot of fun. Nothing like teaching them whose in charge."

Neal stepped forward then but the guard stepped with him. Neal could feel his body heat. Mackson touched him lightly, grip tightening slowly. Neal gritted his teeth. This was the man's way of making him feel helpless.

"Don't touch me!" Neal's voice was frosty he let it rise. His confidence was phony but he hoped Peter would hear him.

The guard spun him around and shoved him into a wall. The door behind slammed open and Peter growled. "Drop him!" He had the six shooter out.

Big and ugly spun, reached for his own weapon only to find it gone. Neal had picked his pocket when the villain grabbed him.

"I think my time here is up." Neal said firmly. Peter forced the man back into a corner, while Neal again picked the leg chains holding him to the wall. Then they put them on the villain and gagged him while he shot them looks that would've killed.

"Good thing he doesn't have laser eyes." Peter remarked.

"No, but I think he has x-ray eyes." Neal shivered. "I felt like he was undressing me with them."

"Cavalry is on the way. I think."

"It better be."

They retreated to the woods. Unfortunately, Neal's disappearance was noticed all too soon. Rinzon's men began searching for him.

"I'm at a definite disadvantage." Neal complained. "Doesn't he hire any woman? I can't even flirt someone into changing teams."

"I haven't seen any here willingly." Peter's six shooter was cocked. They crept back deeper into the trees, staying low and freezing when anyone glanced their way. But once all the buildings were searched...

Gunfire suddenly started peppering the air around them. Neal caught a glint off the roof of one of the buildings as he hit the ground, brambles digging into his belly. "I think that guy on the roof saw us."

Peter fired back. He hit a few people but none went down. They turned together and bolted. He ran out of bullets and switched guns. "Oh this is not good." He tried the gun they'd pulled from Mackson only to find it jammed. He dropped it for the second six shooter.

Neal checked the gun Peter dropped. It proved to be filthy. "He ought to be fired. Interfering with a prisoner's work and bad weapon maintenance."

Neal grabbed the first six shooter Peter had dropped.

"What are you doing?" Peter was firing again.

"Loading. Didn't you realize these were real bullets on my belt?"

"You know you couldn't have a real gun, what were you doing with bullets?"

"No-one said the bullets had to be fake." Neal handed the reloaded weapon back.

Peter refused it. "We technically aren't even in the States. So...if you have to, shoot back." Encouraging Neal to participate in combat made him queasy but there was no help for it. He couldn't do it all alone.

Neal looked uncomfortable but didn't argue. He started shooting back.

Rinzon suddenly stepped out during a lull in the fighting.

Peter blinked. "I didn't see him on any of the planes. When did he even get here?"

"Ah, Mr. Caffrey you do have a reputation. But I was unaware bloodshed was in your repertoire. Are you now a gunslinger? How far will you go?"

A group of people were pulled out of the building, clearly terrified. Rinzon's black clad bodyguards held them in front of them as they advanced to the edge of the woods.

"Oh that is just..." Neal snarled.

"Retreat." Peter murmured. They both began backing up even further, careful to stay of sight behind the trees. But the crunch of vegetation underfoot seemed very loud. There was a clearing behind them. They didn't dare go that way.

"You are much more valuable than my sweatshop workers Mr. Caffrey. In fact..."

A gun shot and short scream instantly cut off, froze them both in their tracks.

"...they are worth very little, easily replaced. How about every five minutes you remain out there I kill one? Here is one down for you." One of the people held in front had dropped while the others kept whimpering.

Neal turned white. He stared at Peter who had his jaw clenched. Neal swallowed. His heart hammered. "Peter, I can't.."

Peter's hand was on his shoulder.

"And your friend, yes? My man did mention a second man tied him up. How about we make that two workers? One for each?" BANG! Another person shrieked and dropped.

Neal's eyes were wide now with near panic. Peter sucked in a breath and dialed the SAT phone.

"Diana..."

"Boss..."

"They've got us cornered and their killing prisoners until we come out. You'd better get here fast. We have to surrender. If anything...goes wrong tell El I love her."

"We'll get you out." Her voice was determined.

"Peter. What if they..." Neal's voice was choking. They wanted him for his forgery skills. Peter was excess baggage.

Peter's hand was tight on his shoulder. He patted and released it, glanced at Neal and stepped out, weapon lowered. Neal followed.

"Drop your weapons."

They reluctantly complied. The henchman hurried up and tied them up, dragging both toward Rinzon. The man stood near two obviously fresh was blood on his clothes.


	6. Chapter 6

Rinzon had shed his vampire costume but his eyes still glittered back and there was still something evil about his smile.

"Little did I realize, you truly are a team." He studied Peter. "You have one minute to convince me not to shoot you."

"Shoot him and I won't work for you." Neal fired back immediately.

"No? All these other people and this is the one that you would refuse to work if we will not spare?"

He looked back at Peter. "Who are you?"

Peter was silent.

"Mackson."

The thug they'd tied up stepped forward.

"Would you like to have the evening alone with Mr. Caffrey before he continues his work, a little time to readjust his attitude for embarrassing you?"

Neal's eyes widened and he clenched his fists.

The man's smiled slowly, a cut throat smile and looked Neal up and down. "Yes."

"You can have him."

"No!" Peter's lips tightened.

"You don't mind if our other guest watches your fun do you?"

"Not at all."

"Leave him alone!" Peter growled as Mackson stepped up to Neal, who was trying his best to look indifferent. It wasn't working. He was shrinking back, his nostrils flared. "I'll tell you."

"If I leave him alone, you'll tell me? You two do have an interesting relationship."

Neal shook his head at Peter in spite of the fear in his eyes. Peter was afraid too. This would either make them back off or get him killed on the spot.

"I'm an FBI agent and if you hurt either one of us you'll have the full weight of the FBI raining down on you."

Rinzon looked amused. "We are not in the United States."

"I bet you plan to go back eventually. Even if you don't you'll be on every international watch list. We know enough. Our team knows enough."

Rinzon stared at him and Peter glared back defiantly. "You are bluffing. Mr. Caffrey is a criminal."

"Working for us. He's our responsibility and we take care of our own. If you hurt us, you'll pay eventually."

Rinzon nodded slowly. "All right." He studied Peter carefully. "But no-one here goes without working for me." He smiled and glanced at Neal. "I know. He'll inspire you to work faster."

Neal frowned at this. They were taken back to his cell. They were patted down thoroughly. This time, they found the lock picks and took weapons and belts too. It wasn't until they were both dragged into opposite corners of the room and chained that he had an idea what Rinzon meant.

They forced Peter down and one of them came back with a needle and tubing. Neal shifted uneasily watching. Mackson had a painful grip on Caffrey, holding him against the wall but making sure he had a clear view of Peter. They put the needle in and finally started drawing blood. It took a second for Neal to register that they were stepping back and leaving the blood flow out into a bag. Peter struggled for a moment. But they'd chained him so he couldn't reach the needle and it only made it go faster.

Then they moved onto his other side and put another needle in with something flowing into him.

"What are you doing?" Neal's voice took on a note of urgency in spite of his attempts to ignore growing panic.

"We are making sure you are inspired to work quickly. Finish the piece before we fill too many bags." Rinzon came right up to him. "Now how much blood loss does it take to kill someone? And how much loss with the appropriate amount of a foreign drug cocktail pumped in before his mind is gone forever? Mackson will be checking on your progress."

Rinzon and goons finally left. Mackson cast him a chilling parting glance.

Neal stared at Peter in horror and then the canvas. He glanced around wildly but he couldn't see an escape route. He swore inwardly he'd kill Rinzon if anything happened to Peter. How could he paint under these conditions? His normally steady hand was trembling and he couldn't seem to stop it.

At least they were alone. "Peter?" His voice shook a bit.

"I'm here." Peter sounded good.

"If you see a way out, I'd be thrilled. I think that guard might be holding a grudge. My hand's a bit nervous..."

"So's mine." Peter said dryly. "I thought the vampire thing was just a costume." He was trying to calm his friend, for the legendary Caffrey cool was approaching the breaking point.

Neal tried painting, but his practiced eye could spot the wavers in the lines. Mackson kept coming into eye the two, gave him a grin that reminded him of a skull and then left. Neal fought to let himself be absorbed into working on the painting.

A noise made him look at Peter. His friend was gasping softly. "Hey. How are you doing? Any idea what that stuff is?" He wasn't even sure what they were pumping into him.

The response was slurred. "Dunno. Hot. Everything's fuzzy...tingling... my hand...ged id offff.."

Neal stared at Peter. He could see from here he was shaking. The floor was cold concrete but he was hot? His lips tightened. Peter started thrashing, trying to fight off invisible foes. He was hallucinating by the time Mackson came back to check on them.

With monumental effort, Neal put on his best con man attitude and gave the man an appraising glance. "That was kind of mean of your boss wasn't it? Here you are, a loyal worker and he offers me to you and then yanks me away."

Mackson just smiled, shook his head. "I'll have my way with you later."

"Not likely. I'm sure he wasn't impressed with your getting bested earlier."

Mackson's eyes narrowed and he approached slowly. "I could take you now and he wouldn't stop me as long as I left you able to paint."

"Think so huh? Think he wouldn't know?" Neal glanced at Peter. "I'd rat you out."

"Boss'll be gone for hours."

He'd be able to tell how fast I was painting by his condition..." Neal nodded at Peter.

"All he'll know is you didn't paint fast enough. I can neglect to tell him your done until it's too late for him anyway." He grabbed Neal slamming him against the wall. Neal had a momentary twinge of doubt as his head cracked against the concrete. The man was strong and he was pressing him in places that hurt. The more he squirmed the more the man seemed pleased. He gasped as Mackson tightened his grip, forced him down and leaned on a pressure point. Neal hissed with pain. Fingers feeling lightly along his foe, Neal's hand touched the gun. He slid it out and swung hard, clocking his attacker in the temple. Mackson collapsed, growled, tried to grab it and Neal swung again, cold cocking him until he landed limp at his feet. Breathing hard, he searched him,found the keys and freed himself.

He locked Mackson down and rushed over to the door and was relieved it could be locked from the inside. Then he hurried to Peter.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Thanks to all the reviewers. Glad so many have enjoyed the story.**_

* * *

><p>Peter's eyes were staring at nothing that Neal could see and he kept tossing and turning, trying to claw the air. Carefully Caffrey stopped the bleeding and the drug being pumped in. Then Neal pulled his friend into his lap and waited. His heart was thumping with fear at being trapped and helpless. All he could do was wait and shoot any enemy who forced their way through that door. The thought made him sick. Time seemed to crawl. He occupied himself for a few minutes trying to think of a clever way out. When that failed, it crossed his mind that dressing up as Butch and Sundance might've been asking for trouble. If memory served, the real Butch and Sundance had died in a hail of gunfire.<p>

There was indeed a thumping on the door eventually and then cursing and more thumping. Neal closed his eyes for a moment and gritted his teeth. He pointed the gun at the door. He'd never thought about going down shooting but he wouldn't let them near Peter without a fight. The gunfire had his own finger tightening around the trigger. Shouts rang out. That wasn't one gun in the hall, it sounded like a full scale battle. Had the cavalry arrived?

Screams, shouts and authoritative orders reached him but none were clear. He stared at the door, hand trembling, body tense.

Something hit it. Once, twice, it was cracking. "Whose there?" He yelled suddenly.

The door slammed open. DEA! FBI! Hands in the air! Neal froze for a dangerous moment, forgetting he held a gun.

"Caffrey drop it!"

Neal gasped and put it down at Diana's yell. She shoved past the other agents and hurried to his side. The DEA were charging in...reaching for him.

"He's ours." Diana snapped.

Neal was cringing. He forced himself to breathe again. As the other agents backed off and he pointed at Mackson and found his voice. "He's one of the kidnappers."

"Are you.." she stopped, kneeling by Peter and taking in the scene. "Medic!" She yelled back at the door. Her eyes widened.

"What did they do?"

"Drained him of blood and pumped in a drug cocktail. Said they wouldn't stop until I finished the forgery." His voice trembled.

"Are you okay?" She demanded, taking in his battered condition.

"I will be. I'm just bruised. Just get us home."

* * *

><p>Peter was unconscious for half of the flight back. Neal refused to leave him.<p>

"We were really worried about that last call. We finally had the thing set up but it still took time to get here." Diana explained.

"I wasn't sure who you'd get, given where we were."

"Turns out they are running drugs through here too. Obvious, given how freely they pumped it into the prisoners. Plus there were kidnapped US citizens and two members of the FBI and one NYPD officer."

"Did they find her?" Neal demanded. He'd forgotten the NYPD officer.

"Yes. Badly beaten. She fought hard." Diana motioned back and Neal suddenly realized the other wounded patient on the flight was the woman in question.

"Ultimately it required a lot of planning, favor trading and agencies working together. That doesn't come easy."

Neal sighed and then blinked. "Hey partner." He squeezed Peter's arm.

Peter's eyes were open and sliding around. His color was better and he clearly was focusing. "Mm.." His eyes widened as they landed on Diana. "Oh thank heaven. The nightmare is over."

Diana grinned. "You're welcome, boss."

"El..." He moaned.

"Will be waiting at the next airport. We'll fly back to New York together. The medic is treating you in flight and says it's okay to just land for fuel and take off again."

Peter looked at Neal. "So. No time for sight seeing. And you don't get to head for Mexico, Sundance."

Neal smiled. "Only sight I want now is city lights and my own bed, Butch."

Peter smiled back drowsily. "Agreed, Sundance. But no more vampires. From now on, any vampire in my vicinity has to be under three feet tall and saying trick or treat. Any others shoot them with your water pistol and make them melt away."

"I think your thinking of witches. Don't they melt when hit with water?" Neal smiled in amusement.

Peter's eyes were shut again and Neal glanced at Diana. She smiled. " You did catch Rinzon. Or we did, thanks to you." She shook here head "You realize you two just busted a major art forgery, slavery and drug ring in one blow?"

"We won't get all the credit."

"No. But you were the catalyst."

"Just another adventure for Butch and Sundance, Caffrey and Burke."

"Burke and Caffrey" Peter's eye opened and he smirked.

Neal grinned back. "Partners in crime. Or law. Depending on the country maybe."

Peter's eyes slid shut. His fingers twitched and he found his cowboy hat was lying at his side and he pulled it on, tilted down low over his eyes.

"Well, Burke and Caffrey just outdid Butch and Sundance." Neal murmured, watching Peter. "We made it out without having to go down in a hail of bullets."

"That," Diana pointed out wisely, "is the advantage of working for the right side."

The End


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